13. Deranged

13. Deranged

Fear danced across Ramorran's skin when the door of his cell swung open and Sixblades stepped inside. With his hands tied behind his back, he'd been unable to remove the gag. He was silenced, defenceless, and Sixblades knew it.

He fought to keep his reaction off his face, showing his captor as blank a facade as he could. Sixblades had always enjoyed provoking his emotions. He wanted affection, or a fight, or fear. Ramorran would deprive him of them all.

That didn't prevent alarm thrumming through him, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Shaking away the fear clogging his thoughts, he faced his captor as calmly as he could. When they'd first met, Sixblades had been strong and powerful, broad in the chest, his laughter booming and his hair vibrant auburn. Ramorran had been overwhelmed from the first moment he'd set eyes on him, tugged along in his wake, drowned by the experience of what he'd thought was love.

The sensation thrumming through his veins now wasn't love; not even close. He wanted to run, to hide. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. He couldn't run and there was nowhere to hide. He couldn't even beg, although he was grateful for that.

"Pretty, pretty boy," Sixblades crooned. His voice was the same Ramorran remembered, the words a parody of those that had captured his heart. He shivered, recalling the times Sixblades had said such things and he'd preened beneath the words. He'd been fool enough to believe the pretence, to think Sixblades actually cared for him. He watched warily as the man advanced, aware how unbalanced the situation was. He couldn't speak, which meant he was entirely at the other man's mercy.

The pirate walked slowly towards him, greedy eyes assessing him acquisitively. When Sixblades took a step to the side as though he planned to walk around Ramorran, he stepped back. Better to have a wall at his back than this man where he couldn't see him.

Sixblades smiled coldly as though he guessed the motive behind his movement and Ramorran regretted giving even that sign of fear. He glanced at the door, which he was pretty sure hadn't been locked. But the bulk of a guard was clearly visible through the grill.

"Back under my roof," Sixblades crooned. "Back where you belong." He advanced. The wall was hard against Ramorran's shoulder blades, his bound hands digging into his ass. "My property. My pet."

Sixblades lifted a hand to stroke his cheek and Ramorran knew he wasn't going to get a better opportunity. He jerked his head forward, smashing his forehead against the bridge of Sixblades' nose. He gave a cry of pain, staggering back, hands going to his face where blood dribbled from both nostrils.

Ramorran darted past him, but was brought up short when the door swung open and the guard levelled a sword at his chest. "Back. Against the wall." Since the only other option was to skewer himself on three feet of steel, Ramorran obeyed.

"Sir?"

Sixblades waved the guard away. He held a bloody cloth against his face. Ramorran tried to hum, but his mouth was too dry, while the gag blocked the sound from getting out.

Sixblades wiped his face and straightened. He grinned coldly at Ramorran. "Still spirited, I see." Faster than Ramorran could track the movement, he drew a dagger from his belt and held it under Ramorran's chin. "Fight me. Go on."

He held still, chin raised, alarm surging through his blood. Sixblades chuckled and he reminded himself to give his captor nothing of what he wanted. He forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose, to stay calm and give Sixblades no reaction. The other man would torment him a little, then get bored and leave him alone.

He hoped.

"I could cut out your tongue," Sixblades said in a conversational tone. Ramorran felt the cold of the blade against his neck, the slight pressure. He couldn't see, but he didn't think he'd pierced the skin. Yet.

He willed himself not to respond, not to let a sound pass the gag. His heartbeat sped up without his permission and he fought to stop his breath speeding likewise. He'd give Sixblades no satisfaction, whatever happened. Fates help him.

"Do you think I could?" Sixblades leaned closer, sour breath on his cheek, eyes glittering as they regarded him like an insect pinned to a board. "Could I disable your voice before you used your voice to disable me?"

Ramorran couldn't reply, but he knew Sixblades wasn't seeking a response. If he tried it he'd fight to his last breath – although bound and gagged it was hardly a fair fight.

Sixblades chuckled, sending a shiver racing up Ramorran's spine. "Not today, I think," he said, more to himself than to Ramorran. "I'll need to break you first. Break you before you break me."

Ramorran counted in his head, willing his heartrate to slow down. A prick of pain made him twitch. The blade had broken the skin where his neck met his shoulder. He waited, breath held. Was Sixblades going to dig deeper? He wouldn't kill him, he was sure; no fun in that. Cold touched his skin: the blade pressed flat against his neck.

Another prick. He caught his breath but gave no more response. Sixblades was staring intently at his neck, watching himself work. A tiny smile played around dry lips. Ramorran felt the itch of blood as it welled and trickled slowly over his skin.

"Hmm. Pretty." A third prick was followed by a fourth.

Ramorran thought Sixblades was working his way around his collar. His breath shook in anticipation of the pain. When would the other man stop? He was glad of the gag now: it meant he couldn't beg.

When Sixblades reached number twelve, where his collarbones dipped, he realised he was trembling and clenched his hands to hold back the jittering. Sixblades hummed as he worked, head cocking one way and then the other, like an artist studying a brushstroke before adding the next. The cuts weren't dangerous, but they were deep enough to draw blood, his skin tingling with the pain, a niggling itch wanting to brush away the drops of blood that oozed from the wounds.

"You look beautiful like this," Sixblades stated.

Only if you had the eyes of a maniac. Ramorran hoped he didn't look as scared as he felt. Was Sixblades planning to keep this up until he broke the way the other man wanted? How long would that take? The wounds weren't deep, little more than an irritation under better circumstances. But Sixblades would realise that in time – would he then dig further, cut deeper until he got the reaction he craved?

Sixblades hummed and leaned closer, sour breath warm on Ramorran's throat. The blade moved to the other side of Ramorran's neck and he spent the next few minutes cutting matching marks around the right side of Ramorran's collar. He kept his sounds behind the gag, but he knew his eyes were watering by the time Sixblades finished and stepped back to admire his insane work.

"Pretty, pretty," he murmured. He pressed a thumb against the oldest cuts, smearing the congealing blood. Ramorran shuddered as the touch travelled over his skin. He thought the other man was looping the blood from one cut to the next, creating some sort of obscene necklace from the wounds. Sixblades hummed, continuing until he was happy with his creation. He stepped back again, opening his mouth.

Ramorran wasn't sure what he expected, but Sixblades abruptly yawned and turned to the door. "Guard!" he bellowed, stepping out without a backward glance.

Ramorran watched the door slam and breathed shakily through his nose. He had to escape. He'd known that already, but urgency lent him determination. He needed to escape today, before Sixblades could return and cut him into pieces. He crossed to the door and peered out. He could just make out the guard's back at the end of the corridor, following his master. Turning, he tugged on the door handle with his bound hands. It didn't budge, securely locked once more.

Ramorran crouched, then knelt with his face level with the door handle. It was a rounded lump of wood, slightly misshapen through time and wear. It was far from ideal for his purpose, but it was the best he had. Ramorran leaned close, trying to hook his gag around the handle to pull it free. The handle slid past the fabric instead of snagging, and his forehead bumped the door with a thud. Ramorran cursed silently, then straightened and tried again, hollowing his cheeks to try and create a gap between his flesh and the fabric. He'd find a way. It didn't matter if this took all day – he had nothing else to spend his time on, after all.

~

Hakan's skin prickled in a hard-learned awareness of danger. He turned to the door in time to watch it open. Sixblades stepped inside and Hakan's body reacted instinctively to the change in the man he'd once known. The hairs on his arms lifted while a pit opened up in his stomach. His blood surged a little faster around his body, ready to run – if only running were possible.

His mouth curved in a smile more like self-preservation than greeting. "Modo, my old friend!" He stepped forward, hoping his bonhomie would surprise the other man enough to give Hakan an advantage.

It was as well he moved slowly, since Sixblades freed a blade faster than Hakan could track the movement, thrusting it towards Hakan's chin.

He froze. "There's no need for this," he said softly. "I thought we were friends. Didn't I bring you what you most wanted to recover?"

Sixblades' eyes glittered. The expression looked like avarice to Hakan. He swallowed uneasily, understanding exactly why Ramorran had been so eager to escape the man. Why he was fool enough to risk returning was a different matter. "You didn't bring my pet back out of fondness for me," he sneered.

Hakan kept his hands up, heart thumping slowly as he watched for an opportunity to overwhelm the other man. "I thought it was a chance to help a fellow pirate and gain a due reward," he said, keeping his tone even. "We don't do anything for nothing; you know that."

"Due reward," Sixblades mused. "How much do you think he's worth?"

Hakan sensed a trap. Sixblades surely didn't fault him for putting a price on a man's head? It was in a pirate's nature to convert anything to gold. "I need a boat," he said when Sixblades' hand tensed around the knife as though he might use it if he didn't get a reply. "The sultan left me with nothing. I need to rebuild my crew and restart my business."

"You thought he was worth a boat?" Sixblades muttered, almost to himself.

Hakan wasn't sure how to reply. "I thought—"

Sixblades pounced, dagger gleaming. Hakan reacted on instinct, stepping back. Sixblades followed through. Hakan's back hit the wall and his chin lifted to avoid the point of Sixblades' dagger. The pirate leaned forward, his nose almost brushing Hakan's as he spat. "He's worth a hundred boats. A thousand! D'you understand?"

Hakan would have nodded, but any movement was likely to spill blood. "I understand," he said calmly. Sweat bloomed beneath his arms and down his spine. How had Osman not warned him of this? Sixblades wasn't eccentric or reclusive; he was deranged.

"He's a prize beyond gold and jewels."

"I'm sure he is." Hakan's blood thrummed in his ears. He could almost feel the thud of his heart making his body vibrate. The need to escape made him light-headed.

"Yet you despoiled him," Sixblades snapped.

Hakan yelled as the blade touched his skin, a cold line moving along the edge of his beard. "I didn't—" his protest trailed off. The knife held steady beside his throat. One thrust and he'd be dead.

"Don't lie," Sixblades warned him. "I can smell double-cross, and you stink of it."

Hakan's thoughts whirled like rain pushed in front of a storm. There was no point denying he'd touched Ramorran. It didn't matter whether it was a lie; it mattered that Sixblades was clearly following his own delusion, not reality.

"Forgive me." He tried a different tack, acutely aware of the blade beside his artery, the knife-edge he was creeping along. "He's beautiful. Exquisite, like you say. I'm a weak man."

His mouth dried at the lie, at the blame he was trying to push onto Ramorran's shoulders.

"And a stupid one," Sixblades summed up. "I don't buy back something that's already mine." Sixblades grimaced, teeth bared. It was, possibly, a smile. "You'll stay here and join my slaves."